


Clearing the Air

by katspaw



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 11:05:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katspaw/pseuds/katspaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gamzee has a bone to pick with Vriska. Several bones, in fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clearing the Air

He catches up with her in the stairwell. She isn’t quite running as she ascends, only keeping her feet light on the steps – but she also isn’t stupid, she knows she’s being followed. He grabs her by the trailing, overlong tails of her godhood, heedless of the delicate blue wings extending from beneath her tunic, and _pulls_ \- they both go staggering down the stairs in a confused tumble, grabbing at each other, the walls, the steps. It’s a mess of elbows and knees and curses until they end up on the landing. Vriska’s back is against the wall, her wings splayed around her and her hand grabbing the collar of Gamzee’s shirt hard enough to choke him. Gamzee’s laughing too hard to speak, his hands planted on either side of her head. She jerks hard at his shirt like she’s trying to unbalance him, and he can see her eyes narrow first in recognition and then in confusion. She pushes at his shoulder and huffs, like he’s offended her.

“Gamzee, what the _hell_ –” she starts, but he pushes back, leans in.

“You know, sis,” he begins amiably, watching Vriska’s face darken with every word, “you done a lot of shit I ain’t chill with.”

“Let go of me already,” she spits, and it’s just a hilarious fucking joke that _she’s_ the one holding on to _him_.

“I AINT’ FINISHED YET,” he roars, and her back stiffens against the wall. It’s satisfying, and he takes a moment to appreciate it before he continues. “There’s been a lot of shit I ain’t said anything about, but you all up and PERFORMING THE WICKED MURDER ACT ON TAVROS is something I pretty much can’t be shuttin’ my seed flap on.”

Vriska looks angry for a moment, and somehow almost disappointed – but then it’s gone and she’s wearing a familiar cocky smirk. “Is that it? Soooooooorry, Gamzee, but maybe if he hadn’t been a gutless coward from the start, I wouldn’t have had to—”

His hand closes roughly over her mouth and nose, pressing hard enough to bruise. There’s a vague heat winding its way through Gamzee’s veins, his head cool and empty. His hand tightens on Vriska’s face. She’s beautiful. He wants to kill her.

One of her feet flies out and catches him on the side of the knee, and Gamzee winces enough that she can push his arm away. With her first fresh breath she hisses, “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Vriska reaches for her strife specibus and Gamzee _moves_ , slams a fist into the side of her head. But Vriska’s fast and clever; she turns her head and moves with the blow, and before he can follow up she’s turned and punched him hard in the gut. The wind’s knocked clean out of him. By the time Gamzee’s lungs are working again she’s halfway up the staircase, and he tears madly after her. He doesn’t stand a chance if Vriska reaches an open area, she’s too fast in flight.

Vriska takes the steps three at a time; she’s jumping more than she’s running. They race up two, three flights of stairs before they reach the door to the roof. Just as Gamzee gets close enough to grab at her again, Vriska turns and swings her leg around; she catches him at the temple and he slams against the wall. His horns clatter noisily against the metal, and then his feet follow suit as he stumbles up and throws himself at the door that Vriska’s flinging open.

He’s not fast enough. She’s through the door and in the air before he can stop her, but instead of keeping the advantage she just gets some distance before she lands. She takes out her dice, tosses them up once, twice, smirks at him.

Gamzee feels around in his own specibus and pulls out the first thing he comes across, and fuck if it isn’t Tavros’s daggerlance. Vriska looks torn between outright disgust and mere annoyance. “Cute,” she sneers at him, and rolls.

The problem with Vriska – with both of them, really – is that they don’t have any control. Vriska knows how to tease and how to kill, and there’s no in between. Gamzee doesn’t even have a handle on the teasing part. They fight with all the reckless abandon of kids in their first strife, the ferocity of adults settling a score.

She’s a match for him and then some. The distance closes as they fight, and eventually Vriska tucks away her dice and Gamzee tosses the daggerlance aside. Then she’s on him, one hand wrapped around his throat and the other tearing any part of him she can reach into ribbons with her nails. He rips the godhood clear off her head, buttons flying free, and yanks at her hair – and somewhere in there Vriska kisses him.

It’s not a nice kiss. It’s barely a kiss at all, really; more a mashing of lips and teeth, and when Vriska pulls away there’s white on her nose and her hand has loosened on his throat. They take a moment to measure each other up in silence. Then Vriska’s nails scrape down to his collarbone and they’re kissing again. They stumble and trip over each other like drunks as they both try to gain the upper hand, all rough kisses and sharp edges. Eventually she gets him pinned to the side of the building, forcing one of his arms against his side and tugging at his hair with the free hand. Gamzee’s so busy admiring the pattern of his own paint on her face that he doesn’t notice Vriska’s leg working its way between his knees until it’s right there, and _shiiit_.

She’s short enough that she has to press right up against him to get any friction going on his bulge, and Gamzee snarls at her even though he’s pushing right back against her. “The fuck are you all doing, sis?” Her hand finds the base of his horn and scrapes around the side, and Gamzee lets out a sound that’s half pained, half hungry.

“You seem kind of distracted, Gamzee,” She taunts, dragging out his name. She pulls away a little, letting go of him. “If you’re all done with your little crusade for revenge – as adorably pathetic as it was – I’ll just leave.” Vriska’s tone is light and mocking. Gamzee scowls at her and she laughs in his face. “Something wrong?”

His hands find the curve of her ass in answer, pull her up tightly to him. “Did I motherfucking say I was FINISHED WITH YOU?” he growls, and Vriska laughs harder, leans in and bites him just under the jaw. He swears and rakes his claws down her back.

They end up on their knees – he kicks Vriska’s legs out from under her and she drags him down with her – still tearing into each other. He feels furious and hot and kind of sick deep down – something to do with the way he wants to laugh when she winces, wants to draw out every tiny discomfort until neither of them can stand it anymore. Vriska’s nails have left scores all over his scalp, his arms, his back – and once she tears off his shirt, his chest gains plenty of marks as well. He relishes the sting.

She’s not shy. Somehow Vriska’s boldness, her sheer ferocity, is refreshing. It’s nothing, nothing like what he would have gotten from Tavros – probably nothing like what he would have gotten from anyone else either. Her lipstick has long since rubbed off, probably all over his face and neck. Gamzee’s sure his facepaint isn’t faring much better.

Vriska bites a path from his jaw to his collarbone, even as Gamzee slides his hands beneath her shirt, cups her breasts and grazes down her sides. She pushes him down flat and keeps going, mouth trailing hot and sharp on his chest. Gamzee’s instincts are screaming at him to get her fuck off of him; it’s a bad position to be in. He tries to flip her over, but Vriska straddles his waist, sits on his legs. She’s got him pretty well pinned, and Gamzee grabs her by the hair and yanks her up in retaliation.

It’s a bit of a hollow victory. He’s made his point, but she’s also not kissing him anymore. There’s a nasty line of bruises down his torso marking where she’s been. Vriska licks her lips, raises her eyebrow, and without any further warning grinds her hips down hard on his.

“Mother _fuck ___,” Gamzee chokes out, and his hands fly up to grip her thighs without thought.

“Did you say something, Gamzee?” Vriska asks, pausing. He wants to knock the smile right off her face.

“Nah, sis, I’m good.” Gamzee grinds out. His hand starts to slip under the waistband of her ridiculous orange pajamas, but she smacks it away.

“What an ass! You didn’t even say please.” Her voice has that overblown quality Gamzee’s come to despise, but the indignation is painfully fake.

His claws dig a little too hard into her sides. “I ain’t fucking BEGGING YOU FOR ANYTHING.”

“Good,” Vriska hisses, and her expression is far too triumphant for Gamzee’s liking. She tugs off first her boots, then her pants and underwear all in one go, shimmying out of them like she’s trying to be sexy – and he hates her for it, because she should look ridiculous and instead he’s just as frustrated and turned on as she was aiming for.

Gamzee reaches down to pull off his own pants, but Vriska catches up his hands, scooting forward until she’s balanced over his shoulders. “Plenty of time for that later,” she assures him, and he can practically hear the ‘eight’. “You gonna show me you mean business here, Gamzee?”

It takes him a minute to work out where to start. Her fronds are too sensitive to risk around his teeth, even if he would enjoy ‘accidentally’ letting one or two catch on his fangs. Gamzee slides his hands up the curve of her ass, tugs her forward until he can reach her nook. She lets out a soft noise when he circles the entrance with his tongue, but she’s quick to cover it up. “Don’t fuck around with me,” she snaps, her neck and ears glowing with a faint blue. “I didn’t think you were that much like Tavros.”

_That_ gets his blood boiling. Gamzee makes a wordless sound of fury and without prepping her any further drives his tongue up into her nook. He’s trying to get a reaction, and she knows it – Vriska’s jaw clenches tight, and there’s only the faintest suggestion of a whimper to tell Gamzee he’s doing alright.

He’s not about to show her that he has no fucking clue what he’s doing. It’s not actually that hard, after a few experimental thrusts of his tongue, to figure out what she likes. He teases her purposely, biting down her thighs, skimming over the entrance of her nook with his tongue. Gamzee’s rewarded when, slowly but surely, Vriska’s self control starts to break. Sooner than he expected she’s whining between her gritted teeth and guiding his head with one hand clenched in his hair.

He doesn’t have a bucket on hand, but he has a suspicion that Vriska wouldn’t be bothered with one anyway. She’s rutting against him in a steady rhythm, breathing labored and eyes narrowed. Gamzee holds her hips with one hand, keeping her balanced while she moves, while the other strokes at her fronds, teasing out the longer tendrils one at a time. He can feel the walls of her nook tighten around his tongue just before she comes, and they both groan as her genetic material releases, pooling in a mess of blue beneath Gamzee’s chest and neck. When Vriska goes limp above him he takes the opportunity for all it’s worth and pushes her off, ducking under her leg. She scrambles to get her muscles working again, but Gamzee’s already sitting up, bracing his back against the wall and taking stock of his bruises. They both have to look like they’ve been through a hurricane.

Vriska’s already shimmied back into her clothes when he looks over, but she drapes herself over him and flashes a terrible little smile. “Wouldn’t want you to feel ignored, right Gamzee?” she teases, drawing out his name. Her hand slides down his torso and grips his bulge roughly through his pants, stroking him in a sloppy, careless kind of rhythm.

A curse stumbles its way out of his mouth, and Gamzee grabs her by the collar of her shirt and jerks Vriska down for a kiss. He bites on her lip until he can taste her blood, hot and metallic. “Yeah, I wouldn’t want you to be all forgetting I’m still half-like TO BE MOTHERFUCKING MURDERING YOU, GIRL.”

She pouts like he’s hurt her feelings, running her tongue over her lip once or twice and looking annoyed at the damage. Vriska sighs once, a paroxysm of exasperation, and abruptly she lets go of his bulge, draws her hand back, and slams her fist into his shame globes.

The reaction is immediate: he curls up, howling, and Vriska darts away light as a feather, her wings fairly buzzing as she hovers next to Gamzee. He wants to rip all the laughter right out of her. Through the haze of pain and choking fury that rises in Gamzee’s throat he hears her call out, “Maybe next time, clownboy! If you learn not to let your guard down, that is.”

She’s gone just like that, and he’s left sore and aching on the ground, his bulge still heavy between his legs. The thought of Tavros’s limp body, legs twisted uselessly beneath him, is still engrained firmly in Gamzee’s memory, and it sends a dark ripple through him to think of it – to remember, too, how Vriska kisses, the catch of her teeth on his lips. But more than anything else, when the fury fades and he finally lets himself slump bonelessly against the wall, what Gamzee Makara feels is profoundly empty.


End file.
